Praise You
by Tom Beaumont
Summary: Kitchen horseplay leads to foreplay for George and Izzie. Which leads to... Rated M for strong sexual content.


**_Tom Sez: Back in July 2007, I was on a roll when it came to writing George and Izzie. Nowadays, not so much - mainly because my calendar is just so blooming full. (I have some stuff I'm working on; it's just taking a loooooonnnnnggg time to come together.) This was my second story in the LJ Exclusive Series. And it seemed to me even then that sometimes when I wrote about these two, I had a half-track mind._**

_**This one is summertime hot...so send the kids outside...get a cold drink handy...and take one last deep breath...**_

**Title: Praise You  
Chapters: 1/1  
Rating: M for strong sexual content - parental discretion is STRENUOUSLY advised  
The Sizzle: Horseplay becomes foreplay for George and Izzie - and we know what that leads to...**

* * *

It starts in the warm kitchen on a lazy Wednesday afternoon, the air sweetly fragrant with the smells of butter and cinnamon and cocoa. George, lured to the kitchen by the wafting scent, stands and watches Izzie as she sets another muffin tin on a rack to cool. She sees him, and a tiny smile tugs up the corners of her mouth. It's obvious to her that his mouth is watering. 

** This is my best friend. I love her, but I'm not in love with her. That would be ridiculous.**

His hunger manifests itself in a loud rumble, which makes her laugh out loud. He shakes his head with a bit of embarrassment, then stalks across the room. She moves in and stands guard, like a mama grizzly in front of her cubs. He tries to head-fake her, hand-check her, evade her, all for one of the chocolate chip muffins that Izzie's been laboring over, and all for naught; she playfully smacks his hands away each and every time.

**Isobel Stevens. What a wonderful name. Is-o-bel. But I'm not in love with her. Man, would she laugh if she heard that some people thought that was even possible. She'd throw her head back and laugh and laugh and...**

He pleads with her for a single bite. Just one. She laughs it off – tells him to hold his horses. One taste, he begs. They smell so good, and he just can't wait. She shakes her head in disbelief, then licks a finger and draws a single crumb from the oak tabletop. Offers it to him with a broad, beautiful smile. He feigns hurt, disappointment – then wraps his lips around the extended digit. She roars with delight. When he pulls his mouth off her finger, she wipes his saliva off on his T-shirt. He gives her a mock accusatory look, then puts her in a bearhug. She screams with delight and contorts her body in the limits of his surprisingly strong embrace.

**Izzie. My best, best friend. Someone I am clearly not in love with.**

They wrestle with each other for a while, giggling and tickling and trying not to break anything in the kitchen or crush the baked goods cooling on the table. Finally, he has her trapped, her back pressed against his front, her arms pinned to her sides by his, both of his wrapped around her, one crossing her waist and gripping her hip, the other across her bustline, hand secured to a shoulder. They breathe and sigh and laugh together as he holds her close.

**See that? Best friends. That's the limit.**

At the same time as she asks him to loosen his grip, he notices a blossoming erection. She says - and quickly - that she has to finish baking before everyone gets home. He lets her go, silently cursing his arousal, and gives her a quick, tender kiss on her oh-so-appled cheek.

**Okay, so that's the limit.**

Then, on impulse, he touches her face with his fingertips, lifts her chin, and grazes his lips against hers.

**Limit, idiot. Now she's going to think you're an ass.**

He opens his eyes as she opens hers. Her expression is a mix of confusion and something else that he can't read. He feels his face beginning to redden, and he turns to walk away.

**Stupid, Georgie-boy. Stupidstupidstupid.**

Then he feels a hand on his arm. Gripping it. Turning him back around. His eyes meet hers again – and the look on her face seems the same as it was, yet he can see that it's different in a perceptible way. And then she grabs him even tighter, and she starts kissing him, using every inch of her body. Like she's dying. Like she's on fire. Like she's starving -

**Like I'm starving. I'm starving and she's feeding me.**

Arms become entangled like tree limbs twisted by time and gravity and fate. Clothing ripples as it is unbuttoned and tugged off and -

**And she's naked - right now - like she was wearing imaginary clothes – oh, my – her body is so ripe and soft and aware and I'm touching her – and she's taking me. She's taking me.**

Her hands are grasping at the waist of his jeans. Unbuckling. Unfastening. Unzipping. And then, greedy fingers and palms intrude and touch and stroke and -

**Oh, Izzie...oh, my...I'm dreaming...I must be dreaming...I must be...**

She pushes him on to the table and begins to work him over. Her hands. Her mouth. Her tongue -

**No...I'm not dreaming. This is happening. It's happening. Something so - dangerous. So very, very dangerous. And bad. I shouldn't be having this - having her - in the here and now. Better in my imagination. No one can see inside it. No one can walk in unannounced, like someone could right now. Or right...now...**

She climbs on top of him, ravenous. Straddles his belly, then his pelvis, then lowers her dewy self on to his hardened manhood, enveloping him slowly, deliberately. Her wild eyes never leave his. She's so tender and so, so wet. And dirty and sexy and crazed. So. So. So -

**Please don't stop this. Please don't stop this. Don't stop, Izzie. Don't ever stop.**

Her skin has a soft radiance that give her the aura of a mythic goddess and when she deigns to lean her face into his for a kiss, he's not surprised that she smells and tastes clean and fresh, like a sun-dappled Sunday morning after a storm-tossed Saturday night. Her hands press and paint his chest as she begins to put some speed into her hips -

**She is a goddess. She's my goddess. Mine. All mine. Is-o-bel - truly the love I've dreamed of and yearned for since the beginning of my life.**

_"Oh, George,"_ she gasps,_ "You feel so good inside me...sooohhh- ah - ah...ooohh..."_

**The pleasure of her body melding so perfectly with mine has cleared the cobwebs from my mind. I'm not afraid anymore. I won't listen to those small voices inside and outside of me. My marriage is over - but it never should have begun. My goddess tried to warn me, but I didn't want to listen to her then. Goddess Isobel, I listen to you now.**

_"...come inside me,"_ she moans, lacing her fingers with his._ "...pleaseohplease..."_

**...yes...yes...**

She moves faster and faster, her breasts bouncing and spinning as she rides him like he's forty miles of bad road. She traces his mouth with her thumb and he grabs hold of it with his lips. Suckles it, which makes her eyes roll back just a touch.

**My soulmate...**

Sweat rolls down her body in rivulets, and she throws her head back as her back arches, those deep waves of pleasure crashing over her as the nerves just beneath her flesh drink in the tangible fruits of their energetic passion. His hips begin to buck as the pressure rises in him.

**My Goddess...**

She cries out in an undeniable ecstasy - it's a song that echoes off every wall and burns permanently in his brain.

**Goddess!**

She is laughing with pure delight - the adrenaline rush, the endorphins, the -

**_IZZIE!_**

He bursts inside of her, and a hard cry escapes his throat. It feels like a dam has exploded and the tide has poured from him and washed into her, and he is floating along with it, suspended by the moment. She takes it all in, every last drop, trembling at the sensations, and then lays her body atop his, slowly relaxing into him. His arms wrap around her, as if they were supposed to be there all along. Her rapid heartbeat makes her breasts pound against him. And then she kisses him...and kisses him...and kisses him. "Oh, George," she says. "I - I - "

**Tell her. Tell her she has you. For real. For good.**

"I love you, Isobel," he affirms to her, holding her body close to his, their earthy smells mixing with the heady concoction of Izzie's other kitchen activities of that day. "You cannot know how much I love you."

She smiles even more brightly, happy and exhausted. "I think I can," she says, just before she takes another breath with him.

* * *

**The End  
**


End file.
